


t'Is the season!

by TheAwfulDodger



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Mental Instability, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwfulDodger/pseuds/TheAwfulDodger
Summary: A series of seven drabble-esque fics. They correspond with the seven seasons of Buffy, and each one describes how Spike celebrated Christmas that season. They average around 500+ words each. I tried to stick to the timelines provided by the series, but that was difficult in places.The seven stories don't feature actual pairings or naughty stuff, there's some reference in there, but overall they're quite (teasing but) tame. Let's just say... enjoy!Written for the 2009 Noel of Spike





	

Season One:

Drusilla was asleep. Spread out on the four poster bed that had travelled around the world with them, dark hair spread out across the pillows. She was still wearing the ragged white dress that vaguely resembled an oldfashioned bridal gown. It was stained with blood in places, his girl could be a sloppy eater. Spike smiled and stood leaning against the doorpost, content to just watch her sleep for a bit. 

Prague had brought them nothing but trouble, and now his Princess was injured. He would go to hell and back to cure her, if he had to, but for now rest and good food would have to do. Spike made his way to the bed and let himself sink down next to her still form, sliding against her as he pressed a kiss on her nose.

She sighed and stretched slowly, catlike, and he continued to pepper her face with kisses.

“Merry Christmas, Dru…”

“A river of blood, Spike, and it all tastes like ash” she sighed, turning her head towards him.

“I know luv, it’ll get better. Sit up love, I brought you a prezzy!” Spike smiled indulgently as his dark princess obediently raised herself to a sitting position, and helped her prop herself up against the numerous pillows. He gave her one last little kiss on her nose before he lifted himself off the bed and disappeared though the doorway. 

Spike wasn’t gone for long, and he came back holding a cheerful blanket. It was red and decorated with holly leaves and happy reindeer pulling a sleigh. Drusilla could hear the tiny heartbeat coming from within the bundled up blanket, and she let out a happy sigh. Spike gave her the bundle and she carefully folded the blanket away from the baby’s little face.

Brown eyes stared up at her, wide with wonder, little pink mouth open and cheeks rosy from sleep. Drusilla carefully ran a finger over the baby’s dark curls, the same wonder visible on her own face. 

It hadn’t been hard to find a darkhaired, browneyed baby in Prague, most of its citizens had dark shades of hair, and taking one had been as easy as finding one. He had snatched its mum from the street as she passed the alleyway he was hiding in, and after he’d eaten her, taking the baby from the pram was easy. He’d taken the red ribbon from the mother’s hair as an afterthought.

“He has Daddy’s eyes… no snakes and snails and puppydogtails for Christmas!” she declared softly, and Spike joined her on the bed, snuggling up against her. The perfect little family, were it not that the baby was Dru’s dinner… Spike twirled one of Drusilla’s dark locks around his finger as he watched the two interact. She played the part of mummy very well, had perfected it over the years. She rocked the baby gently and made faces at it to make it smile. He grabbed the hairbrush from the nightstand and carefully brushed her hair, before taking the ribbon from his pocket and tying it in her dark tresses.

Drusilla cuddled the baby like that for a while, until it began to grow hungry and started to cry. She pouted and tried to thrust it back into Spike’s arms.

“It’s broken, Spike, the little springs don’t work anymore. Wind it up for me, tick tock tick tock?”

“Eat up, love.” He encouraged her, pushing the crying baby back at her. Putting the hairbrush back on the nightstand, he vamped out, to get her to feed, and it seemed to work. She showed him her true visage and slowly lifted the crying baby to her mouth. Velvety soft baby skin was no match for her fangs, and the crying soon stopped.

 

 

Season Two:

“Bloody Hell!” Spike exclaimed, as he manoeuvred his wheelchair past the Christmas tree that blocked the entrance. The room was a mess… Apart from the Christmas trees (at least half a dozen), there were lights and ornaments everywhere. The soundsystem was playing a horrible chorus of children singing the most awful Christmas songs in existence at a volume that could wake the dead. And in a way, it had, Spike mused.

His princess was dancing in the middle of it, twirling around, knocking ornaments out of trees and stepping on the fragile glass uncaring. They broke into tiny slivers of glass that sparkled in the glow of the numerous Christmas lights that decorated the room. In a funny way, they kinda resembled snow. 

A grim smile made its way onto Spike’s face as he wheeled himself towards the stereosystem and turned the volume down to a whisper. Drusilla looked up, her concentration broken by the loss of her music. Her eyes narrowed as she saw him, and she grabbed Miss Edith from the bed before approaching him.

“Dru, love…” He began, but she cut him off quickly.  
“Hush!” she huffed “You’ve upset Miss Edith, naughty boy!” 

She held the blindfolded puppet up for him to see. “Can’t you hear the children crying?” 

“There are no children here love.” Spike sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to play along with Drusilla’s madness, but apparently, today was the wrong day to mess with Dru. She pouted and let herself slide onto Spike’s lap. 

Miss Edith was soon forgotten and dropped to the floor, as Drusilla started running her hands through Spike’s ungelled locks. She lowered her head to whisper in his ear, lips brushing past it as she told him how naughty he was to spoil her Christmas. He sighed and closed his eyes as the whispering migrated southwards and became a slow, teasing, licking motion on the side of his neck, right over her old bitemark. He stroked her velvet covered back as he tilted his head to the side to give her better access.

His eyes flew open as he felt her fangs break his skin none too gently, taking big gulps of his blood. He tried to pry her off but she clung to him as she continued to drink. He couldn’t afford to let her feed from him, he needed all his strength to heal his injured spine, and Angelus fed him precious little blood. A growl escaped him as he struggled to get rid of her.

“Dru!” His vision was already greying around the edges. What was she doing?! Spike felt himself growing weaker and weaker, until he was on the verge of blacking out. Then, as if she had sensed it, Drusilla let go of his neck, giving it one last teasing lick as she started to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Spike didn’t protest as she manhandled him out of his clothes, and pulled a red ribbon free from her hair, which he recognised as the ribbon he’d given her in Prague a year ago.

“There, naughty boy! No milk and cookies for you!” 

She tied the red ribbon around his neck and stood back to admire her handiwork. A smile appeared on her face, and she ruffled his hair a little bit more for effect. Then, she grabbed his unmoving legs and dragged him from the wheelchair. 

A groan escaped Spike as his head impacted with the floor. The world was spinning around him, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, it was difficult to move. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what Dru was planning. She was dragging him towards one of the trees, right through the shattered ornaments, and he could feel the shards of thin glass embed themselves in the skin of his back.

Drusilla carefully positioned Spike’s naked form underneath one of the Christmas trees, and once again stood back to admire her work. She clapped her hands in glee and turned the music up again, before she ran off in search of Angelus. 

“Daddy will be so pleased with his present!” 

 

 

Season Three:

It was snowing again. Big, fluffy snowflakes that blanketed the streets of Manchester. Not the usual kind of snow England got in December, the kind that turned into a wet, dirty sludge that soaked through your shoes. No, these were the kind of big fluffy flakes that you could melt on your tongue. Big, fluffy flakes that Drusilla would love. If she were here…

He couldn’t stomach South America anymore. Not after what she had said to him. Not enough demon for her, phah! If only she were here, he’d show her how much of a demon he really was! More then that slimy antler demon would ever be! He couldn’t imagine what she saw in him. 

Big fluffy snowflakes, so different from the moist heat of Brazil. The moistness and long hours of sun had stirred a longing in him for good old English weather, and he’d left for London. There was nothing worth staying for anymore…

London however, with its busy streets, had only irritated him more, but it was football that had drawn him to Manchester. There’s nothing like a good old footie match to glue broken hearts, Spike reckoned, and it seemed to have worked. A little.

Big, fluffy snowflakes landing on top of the happy shoppers in the middle of the city centre’s streets. Landing on top of children who gaze at beautiful shop windows. It sickened him. He walked a little faster, determined to get out of this happy jumble of people as quickly as possible. He hated the holidays, hated the happy faces, the decorated trees and the lights. 

Wasn’t there some anti-Christmas demon that could make an end to all this happiness? Spike grumbled and lit another cigarette. Maybe he should do something about this awful Christmas cheer. The bloody decorated shopfronts and windows, the happy people! Maybe string some entrails across the Christmas trees, now that would take the cheer away…

A grim smile spread across his features. That wasn’t such a bad idea at all! Maybe he could make a little Christmas-display of his own… All he would need to do is grab some people to eat, which is what he was planning to do anyway, and let his creativity flow. Blowing the smoke out through his nose, he stopped in the middle of the street and looked at the shopwindows around him. There, that one would do…

It had a really big Christmas tree, decorated in red. The red would go well with the organs and entrails, and he imagined what a head stuck on the top of it would look like. There also was a big stack of gift items in the window, perfect to splatter blood and flesh on. But the main display was a life sized sleigh, complete with a reindeer and a Santa. He’d pile the disembowelled corpses in the sleigh, maybe dress one of them in Santa’s outfit…

It would be perfect! Why didn’t he think of this before? What a great way to dispose of the remains of his Christmas dinner! He would paint the fake snow in the window red with blood, and decorate the tree and sleigh in his own unique way! Tomorrow night would be a night to remember, a jolly old Christmas celebration after all, and it would be all over the papers on Boxing Day! A laugh bubbled from his mouth, and he continued his trek through the city with a newfound spring to his step. 

 

 

Season Four:

The sound of a car door slamming shut outside was enough to stir Xander from his thoughts. He quickly pulled the red sweater he’d picked over his head, and looked around for his shoes. Any minute now, the screaming would start… The slamming doors could only mean that his uncle Rory and aunt Carol had arrived. His dad would have been drinking all day, and there was no doubt that uncle Rory was not exactly sober as well.

Wait, his shoes were underneath the bed! Xander fell to his knees and fished his shoes out from between the dustbunnies. He lifted himself to the bed and pulled his shoes on. The orange recliner was in his direct line of sight, but somehow he managed to avoid looking at it and it’s occupant.

Why did he get stuck with vamp-sitting duties? In his opinion, Spike had been perfectly fine in Giles’ bathtub, no need at all to move him! Xander frowned as he pulled his right shoe on, tying it quickly. He had to hurry, had to be gone before his dad came down to demand his presence at the “festivities”. Damnit, the laces of his left shoe were all knotted, and he yanked at the knot in frustration, hyperaware of the pair of blue eyes following his every move.

“You can just let me go, yanno.”

Shit! No time to start an argument with the bleached wonder now! He tugged the laces once more and tried to squirm his left foot into the shoe unsuccessfully. 

“Shut up Spike.”

“No, seriously, you planning on keeping me tied up till all eternity then, genius?”

“Listen bleachboy, I haven’t got time for this!” Xander ground out, as he finally managed to pull his left shoe on as well. He was already running late for the Christmas celebrations at Buffy’s, and he had to get out as soon as possible, because the mood upstairs would soon turn sour, now that his aunt and uncle had arrived. Xander stood up from the bed and pulled his coat on, fumbling with the zipper a bit, looking anywhere except at the vampire tied up in his chair.

“It’s bloody Christmas you wanker!” said vampire snarled, once again straining against the rope that kept him secured to the chair. Upstairs, the first of many shouting matches began. Xander knew had to get out of here, fast. He grabbed the sheet from the kitchenette’s counter and unfolded it, before tossing it over the captive vamp.

“Hey! HEY!” a toss of the head did little to dislodge the sheet.

“Shut up! It’s for your own good, you idiot! What if my dad and uncle Rory come down here looking for me! Just be quiet and don’t move, I’ll be back tomorrow!” Xander hissed, as he made his way to the door.

“No, wait, listen, Harris…” Spike could hear the door opening and closing, the key turning in the lock, tumbler sliding into place, then footsteps heading up the stairs outside the basement.

“HARRIS!”

 

 

Season Five:

“Dear Santa,

I don’t know if you exist or not, but I’m hoping you do. I know I haven’t written you in, well, 200 years, and I know I have been rather naughty... 

But you see, Santa, I’ve got a problem….”

 

Spike quickly dropped his pen and slid the piece of paper he was writing on underneath a stack of books when he heard the door to his crypt open none too gently. He jumped up from his chair and whirled around to find the Slayer stomping into his crypt. She didn’t look too happy.

“What do you want, Slayer?” 

She marched right up and grabbed the lapels of his coat, giving him a little shake for good measure. He could hear her heart beating, could almost see the blood flowing underneath the skin of her neck…

“Fess up Spike, what do you know about glowing orbs!” She gave him another little shake. He gave a grim little laugh and grabbed her wrists, careful not to hurt her lest he hurt himself.

“Easy, Slayer! I don’t know what you’re talking about! Can’t your watcher look it up in those books of his?”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to utter a grim laugh, and she let go of the lapels of his coat, shrugging his hands away from her wrists. She narrowed her eyes for a second to stare at him, giving him a once-over.

“So you’re saying you know nothing about monks running around with glowing orbs?” she questioned again, and he shook his head.

He didn’t see the punch coming, and didn’t have time to turn in face away. It hit him square on the nose, breaking the fragile bones once again and making him bleed. She smiled in satisfaction and turned on her heel, stomping her way out of his crypt again.

“If I find out you’ve got anything to do with this, Spike…” she threatened over her shoulder as she exited, leaving the door wide open behind her.

“Bloody Hell! Always going for the nose, bloody bitch!” he cursed, nursing his nose with his right hand. The fragments of bone grinded against eachother as he aligned them correctly. He wiped the blood off on his sleeve and pinched his nostrils shut to stop the bleeding. Flopping down in his chair, he wiped the blood off his hands before he pulled his letter from underneath the stack of books. Putting the pen to paper, the words came easily.

“You see Santa, I’ve got this problem… well, more then one actually. A while ago, some government macho military guys captured me and stuck this chip in my head. There’s also this girl, Buf-”

He looked up with a growl, sliding the letter into its hidingplace again, as he heard high heels clicking on the stone floor of the crypt behind him. 

“Oh now what, Harmony?” Spike snarled, not at all amused by the girl’s presence. She was dressed in a red Santa mini dress, complete with white feather trim and a hint of lace peeking from beneath the hem of the dress. A big pout on her red lips, she approached him to fling herself around his neck.

“Blondie Bear, it’s Christmas! You don’t have to be so mean to me!” Perhaps he should just ram a stake through her heart and be done with it… But the way she was gyrating against him made another part of him reconsider… With a growl, he grabbed her around the waist and carried her off to the bed. It WAS Christmas after all…

 

 

Season Six:

The tree was conveniently placed. If he leaned against it *just so* he could see into the Summers’ kitchen, where the girls were preparing the Christmas turkey. The Summers women, if you could still call them that, without Joyce. It must be hard for the girls, the first Christmas without their mother. All the friends in the world couldn’t fill the gap at Christmas… He couldn’t help but think of his own mum, how they had spent Christmas together, and how hellish it must be to lose your mother, to celebrate the holidays without her for the first time.

He flicked the butt of his cigarette away with a sigh and stretched his arms up above his head, he’d been standing here for a while. Watching, looking in on the little Bit and the Slayer, wishing he could join them for their celebration. 

The sound of two pairs of footsteps on the sidewalk stirred him out of his thoughts. They were still a little distance away, but he recognised the footfalls as belonging to Red and bloody Harris. He ducked into the bushes that separated the Summers’ front yard from their neighbours to hide. It wouldn’t do if Harris knew he was here, he would tell the Slayer, and she would come out to give him a good staking.

Now THAT would ruin his Christmas. Not that there was much to ruin anyway… This was possibly the worst Christmas ever. Well, the one where Angelus had striped his backside with a cane all night long was a memorably bad Christmas too, but this one must be worse. He didn’t know that his heart could hurt this much…

The witch and the Harris kid passed the bushes without even knowing he was there, and rang the doorbell. Spike unconsciously held his breath until Buffy opened the door. When she did, he couldn’t help inhaling the scent that came wafting from inside the house. She smelled heavenly, better then Dru had ever smelled, it made his heart ache. He could hear the little Bit singing Christmas carols and could smell the turkey the girls were cooking. 

Red and Harris entered the house far too soon for his liking, and the door fell shut behind them, cutting Spike off from the smells and sounds from within the house. It made him feel like crying. Why wasn’t he good enough? Why did she reject him like that? She had called him a monster more times then he dared to remember. But he wasn’t anymore, was he? Bloody chip in his head took care of that, didn’t it? And he had tried, tried so hard to help them, tried so hard to stay on her good side, to please her. 

But it wasn’t enough, was it? No, never enough for her, and she had let him know that at every opportunity she got. All he was for her was a weak substitute for Angel! And what did the bloody poof have that he didn’t?! Spike huffed and pulled his coat a little closer around himself, fisting his hands in the pockets. Those bloody leaves obscured his view of the house.

Wringing his way out of the bushes, he took up his old spot against the treetrunk again just in time to see Harris kiss the Slayer on her cheek. Bloody bastard! Spike fished another cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket and lit it.

What DID the poof have that he didn’t? 

 

 

Season Seven:

The door leading to the basement opened with an ominous creaking sound. The light in the hallway did little to lift the gloom that started halfway down the staircase. A steady drip-drip-drip of water somewhere off in the dark was the only sound coming from the dark basement.

Buffy felt around for a lightswitch, as Willow fumbled with her flashlight. 

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea at all… M-Maybe we should go back!” Willow offered, as she managed to turn her flashlight on.

“Nonsense!” Buffy replied, flicking the lightswitch she found. She gave Willow a quick smile and pushed the cheery red Christmas hat a little firmer on her friend’s head. Buffy started down the stairs, and Willow followed, lighting the way with her flashlight.

“Spike!” Buffy called, as they made their way through the tunnel-like halls of the basement. The overheard lighting was woefully insufficient, and Willow’s flashlight cast eerie shadows on the walls. The basement was quiet, but not the “Silent night, Holy night” kind of quiet, Willow mused, and a giggle escaped her. It was like something was waiting for them in the dark, holding its breath, not funny at all. Or holy.

In front of her, Buffy opened a door, and Willow let the flashlight’s beam enter the room before they did. She quickly scanned the corners of the room, and the beam fell on Spike’s huddled form on their far right. Buffy let the backpack she had brought slide from her back as she approached the vampire.

“Spike? Spike. It’s me, Buffy.” 

The blonde head lifted from the jeanclad knees, and Spike stared at the two girls. He blinked owlishly, sniffed the air and banged his head against the wall behind him. Buffy opened the backpack and took a thermos and a package wrapped in tinfoil from it. Willow approached, taking care not to aim the beam of the flashlight directly at Spike but a little bit in front of him.

“Spike? We brought you some of the Christmas turkey… and blood.” Willow said, as she shot a glance at Buffy, who held the thermos out for Willow to take from her so she could open the tinfoil package. Willow took the thermos and unscrewed the cap, while Buffy opened the tinfoil package to reveal a turkeyleg and some other pieces of turkey meat.

“You’re not here!” Spike said in a desperate tone of voice, as he let his head sink back to his knees. He shook it violently as if to clear his mind.

“I was bad, bad, yes, very bad! Made them cry, I did!” he moaned, still banging his head against his knees. Willow and Buffy shot a glance at eachother, and Buffy shrugged. She put the half-wrapped turkey down within Spike’s reach, and Willow put the thermos of blood next to it. Then they both took a few steps backwards, maybe they had triggered this behaviour?

“We just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas…” Willow said with a frown, and Spike’s head flew up, piercing stare directed at Buffy.

“From beneath you, it devours.” He spoke, voice crystalclear in the silent basement.


End file.
